1409 I'VE BEEN WORKING TO FREE MY MIND OF INNER CONFLICT SO AS TO FEEL SAD, SCARED OR MAD WITHOUT FEELING— BAD!

HAVING COME TO KNOW THAT MY INTUITION HAS BEEN WORKING TENACIOUSLY, YEAR AFTER YEAR, TO FREE MY HEART, MIND AND SPIRIT TO FEEL SAD, SCARED OR MAD WITHOUT SUBCONSCIOUSLY GUILTING MYSELF 'A BAD APPLE', WHAT NOW?

 Now, I'll work to stop rejecting half of my emotions in favor of wholly accepting my need to express a natural sense of human reactiveness, over time.  I mean, now that my many-layered persona is thin skinned, I'll need to grow toward truly embracing both sides of my nature by consciously reminding myself to absorb this insight into deeper truth straight down to the epicenter of my core:  Repression of frustration, sadness, and fear has actually been bad for my health, whereas owning up to and freely expressing the vulnerable side of my nature will truly be good for my spiritual, physical and mental health, most especially as I advance ever more deeply into old age.

WOW! Can the simplicity of today's insight-driven revelation (stated above,) be the deeper truth to which complex channels of subconscious denial had blinded my conscious awareness from clearly identifying, over most of my life?  Time will tell ...

As for now, let's hope that you and I will receive many more heartfelt treats than tricks of fate as each day of our lives continues to unfold,  And having conveyed today's intuitive train of thought, clearly and simply, I'll end this stream of consciousness with one word:  BOO!  (Not to be confused with Boo Hoo!)

PS
Though I be costumed as a chicken in the photo below
We can both feel assured that once my brain has fully absorbed
Today's insight, concerning my life long need to by-pass parent tapes in
Order to think clearly for myself so as to freely accept and express
The entire spectrum of natural emotions, most especially those which
Social conditioning had caused me to repress since I was three...
I WILL BE A CHICKEN NO MORE! WOW!
Amazing to think that of all days in which to have gained insight into
The fact that my quest to be true to myself had need to unmask
My persona, straight down to my core, today is—Halloween!

1408 GEEZ! I'VE NEVER BEEN A BAD APPLE!

Just a reminder that while growing up, my smile did not always mask sadness
Insecurity or anger, repressed behind my persona, which I (like Mom) would have
Denied as my own had my strength of spirit (like Dad) not mustered the
Courage to work at revealing subconscious, self demeaning attitudes by challenging
My brain to peel away layers of defensive denial during sessions of EMDR

In fact, here's something you can feel sure of:  Whenever my eyes sparkle at yours
That attests to this fact:  My vulnerabilities believe in the sincerity of your emotional
Support, most especially during darkly confounding times of personal need.  For
Example—the heartfelt smile that my dear friend, Debbie, recently sent across
The miles (By way of Hallmark), ignited my smile to sparkle straight from my core

1407 OFTEN TIMES, THE APPLE DOES NOT KNOW HOW LIKE THE TREE IT PROVES TO BE

Ever since my mom joined my dad, offering me reason to feel
That both of their spirits are finally at peace
Her heart has lived inside of mine, right next to Dad's
As to my parents' voices, both continue to speak of their
Expectations of me, inside my head by way of "parent tapes"

As Dad had been renown for marching to the tune of his own drummer
My father's facial expressions, body language and tone of voice
Had felt utterly free to fully express the entire spectrum of
His emotional reactions as loudly, clearly, spontaneously and
Naturally as whatever he'd truly felt, moment by moment, at his core

Over time, I came to see that veiled behind Mom's socially
Well groomed persona, she'd had need to suppress (or even repress)
The spectrum of 'Socially Unacceptable' emotional reactions, which
In the aftermath of Dad's death, my mother had unknowingly
Unleashed with none except for me, whenever she and I were alone

And not until I'd felt utterly confounded by unexpected changes
For the worse in our friendship did my conscious awareness
Develop need to grow beyond the mask of my persona before
I came to see how many insecurities. which my mother denied
As her own, had been subconsciously absorbed by me ...

Yesterday, my brain resisted penning a new post
And today, I know why that was true ...
My think tank has been busily working to reveal and absorb
Insights! concerning the specific parental tape, found in Post 1404
And if you ask why this sense of mental repetition felt necessary, I'd reply:

Each time my power of intuition draws me toward
Understanding the frequency with which
A good little girl, who'd aimed to please, had
Felt admonished upon hearing - 'Annie, don't feel that way'
I'd felt bad about disappointing my mother's high expectation of me

And since I'd feared provoking my mother's frown since Janet's death
Today's insight-driven train of thought brightens a dark spot inside
My subconscious, concerning the self denigration of my self image:
Each time I'd felt sad or scared or mad, I'd also felt ... BAD, explaining
Why I'd only felt like a good person when my smile was my umbrella

The fact that I'd felt directed to disown (deny) half of
My natural, emotional reactions caused my think tank to
Grow up feeling confoundingly conflicted for this reason:  I'd been
Conditioned to associate natural emotion with guilt, clarifying why
My power of intuition has repeatedly directed me to tunnel subconsciously

Each time intuition has directed my conscious mind to dive
Ever more deeply into my subconscious, I strengthen my resolve to
Actively reprocess deeply repressed attitudes of self condemnation, thus
Inpiring my negatively focused self assessment to freely absorb and
Express the entire spectrum of my natural emotional reactions, over time

And keeping my sights on my goal of being true to myself, here's what
My therapist suggested:  Annie, go home and practice suffering, naturally, in
Good health throughout the week.  Since this 'homework' assignment tickled
My funny bone I'm glad to say that ever since insight highlighted today's
Dark spot of subconscious self degradation, my mind felt freed of untruth

And now that I've pulled this current train of thought (Concerning
A good little girl, who'd felt like a bad little girl whenever
Her smile had felt sound reason to play hide and seek) into
Today's rest station, my mind feels every bit as clearly intact as
My spirit feels freely uplifted, so on this up note, that's a wrap

1406 MY PLAYFUL SIDE FEELS EAGER TO DANCE WITH RAVI, TODAY

Having tidied up yesterday's train of thought
A bit more than when it had first been written
I'm planning to rest my mind before
Picking up Ravi for our play date, today
And as that thought leads me to this next thought:
All work, no play makes for a dull day
I'll bet you can understand why, having freed
My playful side to frolic with the active antics of
Our two year old grandchild, floods my heart with joy
And since it's nearly time to hold this precious little girl
Close to my heart, that's a wrap for today except for this:
Here's a video of Ravi, whose adorable, sponge-like
Growing sense of awareness mimics (while absorbing)
Everything we do and every word we say—as her own

Grrr ... for unknown reason, I can't get this video, showing Ravi mimicking me singing opera, to play

1404 SEEK TO KNOW THYSELF AND CLARITY INTO DEEPER TRUTH WILL BE THINE

Holy smokes!
The complexity of thought that poured into yesterday's post
Had need of simplifying, Big Time!
As working to revise almost every sentence in that
Train of thought usurped an abundance of mental energy
As well as most of my writing time, today
I'm offering my think tank a rest from
Further mind bending tasks by asking:
Who said this?

"I am not the richest, smartest or most talented person in the world
But I succeed because I keep going
And going
And going"

"Let me tell you something you already know
The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows
It can be a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to
Your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it"

"Your spiritual sense will make you either a winner ot loser
Remember: The mind is your best muscle
Big arms can move rocks but big words can move mountains
It ain't over till it's over"

"You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life
But it ain't about how hard you hit
It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward
How much you can take and keep moving forward"

Today's post indicates that
Insight into deeper truth need not be eloquent
Insight just needs to be clearly 'right on'
Thank goodness my sense of humility has clarified
My need to learn a thing or two from Rocky (who stated
all of the above) in hopes of stopping
My brain's mental complexity from knocking me out!
—Annie

PS
Made my way through three weeks of mental complexity toward clarity, again!  Whew!  Unstuffing each layer of repressed emotion after having stuffed my subconscious with unprocessed fear, repressed pain, and a confounding sense of anger proves far more complex than easy-peasy, as can be seen in posts, which had been published chock full of complex trains of thought in need of extensive editing.

Why publish before editing?  Because, initially every train of thought, published, had seemed clearly conveyed to—me.  Then overnight, upon reviewing the mental complexity inherent within those trains of thought, I'd ask myself—which portion of my brain felt need to express that complicated stream of consciousness—certainly not the portion of my brain that's trying to make sense of it, right now!

Over most of my life, one parental tape in particular (Annie, don't feel that way!) admonished my true sense of self to mask any natural emotional reaction, based in fear, pain or anger, behind my ready smile, which had seemed to serve me well until twenty-two years ago when my self awareness had reason to grow beyond my persona, which got to feeling so tight that I could barely breathe and thus, did I feel need, at that time, to begin to peel away at each layer of that mask, behind which my intensely repressed, emotional complexity had been held hostage, beginning when Janet died.

Since I was barely three during that tragic time, which had traumatized every adult in my family, I had no conscious clue of having grown up, feeling conditioned to 'see' that trio of emotional reactions as negatively focused.  Needless to say, my inability to release one half of the spectrum of honest, emotional reactions (without feeling personally condemned) proved confusing, unhealthy, unnatural and directly opposed to 'getting real' by being true to myself.  I mean, if too much of anything is not good for a person's well-balanced sense of good health then an over abundance of positive focus must be in need of reprocessing, too.

On an up note, my subconscious has been revealing strings of insight, which will (hopefully) eventually, head future episodes of PTSD (each of which relates back to yesteryear's unidentified trauma) off at the pass before my think tank's connection to logic goes AWOL.  Needless to say, the originality of my plan to continue to stimulate insight to spark is as experimental in nature as has been true of every plan, conjured up within the creative center of my brain when I grew up to be a  mom, raising three munchkins of my own ... each of whom was encouraged to own and express (in a healthy, well balanced manner) every emotion that I'd felt conditioned to repress.  Rather than hearing:  Don't feel that way, I encouraged my sons to fully express their anger by hanging a man-sized punching bag in our backyard.

As to posts written, published and retracted, lately, due to mental complexity, I plan to scroll back and pinpoint portions of those posts in order to showcase details of recent experiences, which hijacked my connection to logic, four weeks ago.  Then, after offering my processor time to simplify trains of thought so complex as to have boggled my mind, I have no doubt that strings of insight, stated simply and clearly will highlight subconscious dark spots, spotted last week.

If upon awakening, tomorrow, I find that today's post was simply stated, my spirit's smile, which has played hide and seek for the past several weeks, will shine forth ever so naturally from within the epicenter of my core, so with hopes of having penned today's train of thought with my sense of clarity intact, I'll bid you adieu till next we meet   ...

1403 I CAN LEAD A FLOCK TO WATER BUT ...

So, here's why I've decided to delay publishing a post penned, this morning, till tomorrow:  I've been challenging my memory bank to absorb insights spotlighted within post 1402, more deeply, day by day, in hopes of inspiring mental habits that do not serve me well, to rebalance with haste.  Why?  Because patience may be a virtue, I am sick and tired of emergent episodes of PRSD making me feel sick and tired of myself!  And In hopes of drawing that cycle to a close, my power of intuition has directed my thought processor toward absorbing insights within post 1402, which speak directly to my determination to achieve change for the better before my think tank bursts into flames.  So rather than redirecting my energy toward penning a new post, which historically spurs additional insights to emerge, I am consciously choosing to fortify my resolve to deepen my awareness of need to catalog specific situations that trigger spontaneous episodes of PTSD, which shoots so many holes in my wall of denial as to free yesteryear's unprocessed anxieties to pour out of subconscious storage into my conscious mind, flooding my self confident attitudes with unidentified bouts of insecurity that run so deep as to stimulate this negatively focused chain reaction:  Insecurity, unleashed, alerts our survival instinct to flood our brains with adrenaline, thus empowering our defense systems to concentrate all of our mental processes and physical energy toward protecting us from a near and present danger, which feels like it's closing in at times when insight into deeper truth suggests that the split-second emergence of an unprocessed, subconscious fear is the primary reason why we feel too alarmed to think smart on the spot.  Once this fearful split-second emotional reaction has stimulated our survival instinct to shore up our defense systems to withstand attack, our adrenal glands are alerted to produce an over abundance of adrenaline, which, in turn, causes all sense of logic to choke as soon as an element of a current situation stimulates an episode of PTSD to erupt, and knowing this to be true, I need to work at securing my sense of clarity before fear hijacks so much of my think tank as to render my think tank as unable to problem solve as a three year old tot.  In short, I need to make better use of my smarts to outsmart and tame PTSD by switching off the emotional current that creates a spontaneous mental change for the worse as soon as repressed anxiety renders my intelligence helpless in one fell swoop. Whew!

Each time I reread post 1402 (or any post, for that matter), my think tank's natural tendency to multi-task spies reason to improve some element of composition in hopes of simplifing thoughts of such mental complexity as to stimulate my brain's growing sense of emotional clarity to rebalance itself in small yet significant ways.  So in hopes of having served your think tank no more to swallow other than these insights, which have offered us food for thought, repeated, I'll wrap up with one last insight for today:  If anything I reveal about my on-going quest to enhance my self awareness whets your spirit's whistle to thirst after change for the better by identifying conflicting attitudes, which may stress your mental processor, then I'll view that positive result of my work (to heal my brain of PTSD) as a bonus.  I mean, seriously, though my aim is to tame the teacher, who dwells within, she's sure to pop out of the depths of my mind, from time to time.  And let me be the first to admit that, just like Ravi, every part of me likes to be fed, including the teacher, who, like the tiger, within, may be more readily tamed when leashed and well fed.

As for now, let's sum up this post's short range goal before my brain feels need to pull this complex train of thought into today's rest station:  I can lead a flock to water but I can't deepen anyone's sense of self awareness other than my own, suggesting why my long range goal will no longer attempt to extend beyond enhancing my personal sense of self control unless a child is in my care.  And with thoughts of minimizing my frustration when I see others, whose false sense of safety feels need to stumble ever more blindly into Denialand, I'll direct my energy away from their persona's defensive need to tighten their masks in favor of identifying my need to steer my think tank clear of feelung personally attacked by anything said or done that might otherwise catalyze each next episode of PTSD to erupt.  Needless to say, I couldn't think to identify much less resolve my life's primary problem before my brain was correctly astutely diagnosed as being in need of healing itself from the inside out of PTSD.  Unlike the common cold, coughing up recurrent episodes of PTSD can be cured upon seeking a professional therapist, trained in EMDR.

As I work to maintain control over my rebalanced sense of wholeness, thus disempowering my natural connection to emotional reactiveness, my attachment to mental acuity will continue to strengthen.  And with hopes of having shone clarity's spotlight of insight onto my need to continue to fertilize a life-sweetening sense of mental rebalance to ripen on my vine, that's a wrap for today.

1402 HIDE AND SEEK

By Jove!  I think I've got it!

Tis the positively focused spirit of the extroverted idealist, within
That spurs the cock-eyed optimist to see herself soaring above
Mountaintops across the clear blue sky feeling as free of 'failure to
Thrive' as a butterfly, newly released from its chrysalis shell

Tis the negatively focused attitude of the introverted pessimist (hiding
Within dark pockets of my subconscious) that spurs my fear of failure to
Emerge each time an eruptive episode of PTSD spins my smart heart like
A top that falls into a disillusioned state of inertia, once the spinning stops

Now that my intuitive sense of clarity has thoroughly identified conflicting
(Confounding) sides of my nature, I believe my subconscious fear of failure
Will be disempowered from hijacking the most creative aspects of
My conscious, intelligent mind for these reasons:

Once my smart heart has had time to absorb today's self-empowering insights
Concerning my need to embrace a well-balanced view of my self image
I believe my idealist and pessimist will feel a self-inspired sense of readiness
To morph into the well grounded realist, who will - come out, come out - at last

I also believe that today's intuitive train of thought will spur my spirit to
Challenge my thought processor to develop its potential to calm rising
Levels of frustration by injecting my intelligence with straight shots of
Courage so as to embolden my positive attitude to patiently master my fate

Hopefully, once my think tank absorbs today's train of thought, insight's
Spotlight will showcase the entire spectrum of my personal strengths whenever
Opportunity opens the door, behind which the great unknown beckons my
Growing sense of courage to defeat self-demeaning attitudes, consistently

In a nutshell, I have sound reason to believe that upon thorough absorption
This string of insights will lighten, brighten and strengthen
My heart, spirit and think tank to maintain a balanced sense of self
Whenever my best efforts to achieve a long-range goal feel shattered ...

And for those reasons, the knowledgeable, deeply observant adult, whom
I've grown up to be, will no longer submit to feeling subconsciously flogged by
The haunting self-image of a deeply confounded, traumatized tot, who grew to be
A strong spirited leader of her peers until she was bullied upon switching schools

So sayth this trio of sages, each in his own way:
Socrates:  Know thyself
Shakespeare:  To be or not to be
Rocky:  Now—if you know what you're worth, go out and get what you're worth!

1401 IN THE NEWS

I can't watch or read the news without feeling fragile, helpless and angry, all at once.

Why?

A Montana judge gave a man 60 days for raping his own 12-year-old daughter. How can we say we take sexual assault seriously?

There's a victim you won't hear from ... in Montana. She was raped — prosecutors say repeatedly — by her own father, who this month received a grossly lenient sentence of 60 days in jail. 

You will not hear from her because she's a child. As a 12-year-old rape victim, she had no voice in the courtroom. No one spoke about the aftereffects of this staggering violation of her body, her trust, her confidence in the adults in her world to protect her. 

Instead, the victim's mother and grandmother begged the judge to keep the defendant out of prison, characterizing the incestuous rape of his child as "a horrible mistake." They said his two other children, boys, "will be devastated if Dad is no longer part of their lives." In a pre-sentencing report, a psychologist said the man is contrite, low-risk, attends church and would fare better under community supervision than in prison. 

Perhaps this is so. The judge certainly thought so: He overrode a prior plea agreement under which the man would do 25 years' prison time, and instead sentenced him to 60 days in the county pokey — minus the 17 he had already spent there. 

"He did spend 17 days in jail, and he did lose his job," the man's defense lawyer told local reporters. What more do you want? 

Like the ripples from a stone thrown in a small-town Montana pond, the story has spread, gathering fury. Since the Oct. 4 sentencing, thousands of people have petitioned for Judge John McKeon's removal. This won't happen, since the judge is already scheduled to retire next month. 

For his part, the judge has blamed — well, everybody, including the media, the prosecution, everybody except himself, for the fury over his decision. We just don't get it, he says: He followed the law, which requires him to seek rehabilitation for the offender. He followed the wishes of the defendant's family. He seems to agree that putting dad in prison would just be another hardship on these poor folks. 

But it's the silence on behalf of the victim that speaks so loudly — that screams out — in this case. The prosecutor, apparently blindsided after thinking he had already closed a plea deal, has had little to say. Family members circled the tribal wagons in support of the father, their message clear: He's a good guy who made a terrible mistake, so mind your own business. 

The reality that he is an incestuous child rapist is not something this girl can speak publicly about. She's a minor, and her family clearly wants her quiet.

Dallas News: your source for breaking news and analysis for Dallas-Fort Worth, Texas and around the world. Read it here, first. Read the full story

Shared from Apple News

1400 A BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF AN IDEALIST MORPHING INTO A REALIST, OVER TIME

Speaking from experience, an inexperienced idealist doesn't change into a realist, over night.  Why not?  Because reflection suggests that the achievement of that lasting change must move from one stage of development through the next before the profound nature of metamorphosis (from cock-eyed optimism through grief-struck disillusionment toward peaceable realism is complete.

Speaking personally, I'd mistakenly seen myself as morphing from a caterpillar into a butterfly, flying freely through the clear blue sky, when, in truth, a butterfly's life is fleeting, and if you ask if each brief stage of a butterfly's existence proves as stormy and serene as human life proves to be, I'd shrug my shoulders, admitting to having no clue.  My reference to butterflies is solely based in the fact that Mother Nature saw fit to offer caterpillars the benefit of  weaving cocoons in which to undergo each stage of metamorphosis, whereas humans have need to move through each stage of transition toward maturation on center stage before an audience, armed with tomatoes, ready to be thrown.

Over these past two decades, my strong willed spirit has seen my attitude, concerning life and love, transitioning away from seeing myself as a high flying aerialist, whose head had need to remain stuck in a cloud of denial ever since the age of three when tragedy shattered my personal sense of safety into heart piercing shards.  During these past twenty years, I've been working, as would a private investigator, to recreate the bigger picture of my identity by piecing those shards, together.

The earlier in life that trauma scatters a child's sense of security to the winds, the more difficult the recovery from PTSD.  Why?  Because at the age of three, the undeveloped nature of a fledgling thought processor can't hope to begin to process depths of emotional pain suffered within the self, much less anguish suffered by anyone else.   And thus, over years, do layers of denial pile up, saving a small child, who has experienced emotional devastation, over long, from losing his or her hold on sanity, suggestive of the fact that during childhood, denial acts as a sanity saver.  On the other hand, denial denies injured portions of a child's self image to literally petrify in place, stalling each next stage of the child's natural development from advancing in such a healthy, well grounded manner as to subconsciously experience failure to thrive in the same way as proves true of infants, whose physical needs are cared for while their emotional needs are ignored.

Ever since the age of three, each traumatized, deeply wounded, petrified, paralyzed aspect of my deeply repressed, negatively focused, self demeaning self image had need of a jumpstart to catalyze the delayed stage of my emotional development.  In other words, each eruptive episode of PTSD, today, alerts the conscious portion of my thought processor of another opportunity to identify and re-adjust yet another self demeaning attitude by causing me to re-experience a frightening segment of my childhood in the healthy manner, which, having swallowed my self assertive voice, I'd originally been denied by—fate.  In short, each episode of PTSD is Mother Nature's way of saying:  Annie, make good use of your adult think tank, today, to consciously reprocess and voice aloud the depths of anguish, which had utterly confounded the immature think tank of the good, little girl, you had been.

In truth, over these past six years, you and I have played witness to a cock-eyed optimist penning post after post while laboring to give birth to the realist, whose gestation (conceived twenty-two years ago at which time my marriage came jarringly undone) has been processing (morphing) stage by stage, within the womb of my brain.  (Whew!)  And thus have we observed my thought processor working, over time, 24/7, in hopes of my consciously absorbing the strength of spirit necessary to labor through painfully giving birth to the fledgling, rubber legged realist, who has had to face up to this harsh fact of life, multiple times, before today's vision of clarity was mine:  My high flying level of optimism had need to be impregnated, repeatedly by depths of disillusionment before my many-layered wall of denial could muster the courage necessary to unveil The Wizard of Oz staring back at me from my mirror, which currently reflects the chagrined state of my vulnerable human self, at long last.

On the other hand, rather than gnashing my teeth and berating myself, I, having, long ago, morphed past childish, closed minded humiliated reactions in favor of having embraced an emotionally matured, open-minded sense of humility, am, finally, holding my vulnerability aloft for all to see, just as The Statue of Liberty (whom Hillary suggests that The Donald judges to be 'a four' and thus not worthy of his fiddling with) holds high the torch of freedom, which embraces the equality of every human being, throughout the world, because, after all, ansestry.com offers scientific data of the fact that your DNA and mine, which makes up every atom of the unique individuals, whom we each prove to be, has been passed to us from our ancestors, whose DNA, over eons of time, has been woven together from numerous nationalities, skin colors as well as social, political and religious ideologies, all funneling into the make up of the person who stares back from your mirror and mine, thus, challenging our small minded attitudes to work toward embracing, first, oneself as the sum of our parts of our whole before we can hope to embrace others as people, who arise, each day, hoping to clarify whatever disillusionment had served to disrupt their sleep during the dark of night, causing them to awaken, feeling dazed with a sense of befuddlement, similar to mine—holy, moly, seen in this light—is there any wonder as to why the minds of mankind, the world over, are riddled with conditioned hypocrisy in need of trains of intuitive thought, trained on seeking strings of insight, which shine spotlights crystal clear clarity on negatively focused attitudes, in need of identifying and straightening out before deeper truth is ours?

If this idealist-morphing-through-yet-another-stage-of-disillusionment  keeps an open mind, you're sure to witness my think tank chugging out trains of thought, which continue to close the gap between my subconscious unrest and my ever-evolving goal of deepening my personal sense of serenity as I continue to develop and truly embrace the realist, whom I've mistakenly seen myself to be, over these past several years.  Thank goodness I've grown well-practiced at honeying the words I must swallow with dollops of humility rather than stewing hotly in humiliation while eating crow after crow—I mean, who wants to eat crow?

Next time Peter Pan taps at my windowpane, who will run, freely, to greet him and welcome him into my embrace?  A more gracefully matured Wendy, by far.  I hope.

As idealists age, our strong willed spirits either stumble into a sudden, mind blowing tumble down a dark, dank, bottomless shaft where Jack and Jill's self professed prophecy of each one's personal description of hell waits to swallow our deeply repressed, self demeaning attitudes whole, OR our attitudes of cock-eyed optimism slowly slip into a series of zombie-like states of disillusionment to which denial blinds us until intuition is miraculously stimulated to empower our thought processors with insights, concerning new, unexpected experiences, which shine spotlights upon sound reason for each of us to continue to work toward piecing together our own puzzling bigger pictures in hopes of developing a rebalanced, well rounded sense of self.  And as the picture I've just painted colors in the series of on-going events, which continue to serve to reshape the fledgling, rubber legged, re-grounded realist, whom I was born to grow up to be, I invite you to continue to witness my conscious awareness acknowledging and accepting (before peaceably embracing) my next step into the great unknown, which I'll freely choose to take—given time ...

In SCRIBBLE SCRIBBLE, Nora Ephron wrote about Theodore H. White (THE MAKING OF A PRESIDENT (1964, 1968, 1972). "He was 60 and tired ... We must understand how this man grew to have a respect and awe for the institutions of American government that was so overwhelming as to blind him to the weaknesses of the men who ran them.”

Let's change that to:
I am 72 and tired.  We must understand how I grew to have a respect and awe for the institution of 'Family First' that was so overwhelming as to blind me to the weaknesses of the men and women who ran them."  Uh wait ... let's change that to ...
We must understand my inability, until recently, to do more than accept this fact of life, which must be truly absorbed and embraced  before serenity can last more than a day or two:  I may be able to influence change for the better to develop within myself by identifying and reconsidering negatively focused attitudes of my own, which had been repressed, over long; however, I cannot strengthen anyone else's subconscious weaknesses other than than my own.  I mean, let's consider this:  As long as denial blinds each of us to many of our own personal strengths and self demeaning weaknesses, creating lasting change for the better within oneself will prove to be a many staged, lifetime challenge.  So, here's the silver lining:  Time and again, my strength of spirit's quest for wisdom combines with knowledgable tools, absorbed by my think tank, providing my disillusioned state of confusion with trains of thought, which spotlight strings of insight that brighten my self image to view myself as having the ability to champion the soulful nature of whatever mind-bending, energy-exhausting challenge fate has cast in my path at each stage of my adult life—beginning decades before I had a clue of my brain's need to (and innate potential to) seek professional guidance in order to heal itself of PTSD.

As to recent posts, written and left in drafts or published only to be withdrawn
I'm feeling too confused, right now, (though less every day) to know
Where I'm heading next.  Why?  Because my brain is still actively progressing
Through processing through all of the jumping beans that I've recently
Experienced, but not posted, because three experiences dizzied my adult to
The point that my sense of reality spun my brain into an episode of PTSD
Where I could not function at a higher level of thinking than had been true when
I was three, on the other hand, here's the upside of my current state of confusion:
Confusion, identified and acknowledged, is the first stage of change in the making
And if there's one surety, concerning the on-going development
Of my strength of mind, spirit and heart, concerning reshaping my identity, it is this:
Along my life's path, I've taken two steps forward, one back as I continue to identify
More often than not with refocusing my smarts and heart toward this fact—
Over my lifetime, I've worked to create changes for the better, such as these:

One day, I, seeing myself as the bright and sunny center of my family's universe, was
Bewitched into confounded, terrified child, scratching to get out of my skin by night

As years passed, this child, who was (subconsciously) confounded and fearful at
Home, became a deeply observant, empathetic, popular leader at her first school

Though my confounded, fearful (repressed) attitude rocked no boats at home
I remained an observant, empathetic, popular, self assertive leader with peers

Then, with no clue of having become more than chubby, I moved to a new school
Found myself bullied and began to feel just as confounded and fearful as at home

By high school, a child, who'd been a deeply observant, empathetic, popular leader
With peers had morphed into an insecure teen, whose smile served as my umbrella

In truth, I, who'd no clue of veiling introversion behind an extrovert's persona
Morphed from a self confident, social leader into a confounded, insecure teen

My saving grace:  The heartfelt nature of my empathetic smile was so sincere as to
Have won many friendships, and having worked to slim down, my dance card filled

Though having accepted countless dates,  I'd kept a dark secret from myself, which
Offered me reason to fear pleasing boys as much as I'd feared displeasing girlfriends

As this secret kept every boy I'd dated at an arm's length away,  none turned into
Boyfriends until I met a guy, who, respecting my boundaries, made me feel safe

Though I was a good student in high school, good was not good enough for me in
College, because my boyfriend and his friends were pre-med over—achievers

Over time, I rose to the occasion, and before graduation, I, who'd once felt
Happy to earn a line up of B's, found myself staring at straight A's

My college years proved my happiest since I'd switched schools in fifth grade
At which time my social standing took such a sudden dive as to addle my mind

As a young, enthusiastic, fifth grade teacher, whose empathetic love of children
Made me a natural, guess who'd no clue as to how to discipline, effectively?

When the boy with whom I'd felt safe chose me as his loving bride, guess who'd
Followed the dictates of being raised in the fifties, thinking all would be well?

This doting wife, whose love of children was renown, grew to be a loving mother
Whose open minded, good fortune introduced me to Dr. Rudolph Dreikur's opus

Dr. Rudolph Dreikur's opus, CHILDREN THE CHALLENGE was the first of
Many tomes, which had guided this fun-loving woman along motherhood's path

Over time, I'd eagerly absorbed one man's opus after another, and thankfully
This wife, mother and teacher (now of parents) experienced success, repeatedly

As a natural storyteller, the stories I told in class after class, concerning family life
Served as examples of making good use of the creative portion of my noodle

As it turns out, once I'd read opus after opus
My failure-to-discipline-with-effectiveness began to turn around

Over time, my power of intuition had produced five original tools with which
I'd disciplined three boisterous boys effectively, lovingly, creatively and humorously

And each time I'd offer up another sure-fire, logical consequence that had
Work like a charm, class participants implored me to pen an opus of my own

Having facilitated seminars at professional conferences and published
Articles in parenting magazines ...

The spirit of this certified instructor of family communication felt shattered each
Time disillusionment smacked my noggin into a wall—which wall?

My wall of denial, and if repeating the same pattern while expecting
A different result is the definition of insanity, then ...

In order for my fearful introversion and heartfelt extraversion were clearly able
To cleave together, my wall of denial had to come down, layer by layer

As Joshua and his horn was no where to be found, luckily
Socrates, whose empathetic heart was winging past my house befriended me

And as that, in a nutshell, describes stages of metamorphosis leading up to my
Present stage of personal growth, which sees my mind progressing through
This current process of shedding my chrysalis, you might think to ask:
Well, Annie, where do you go from here?  To which, I'd reply:
In my present state of mental contemplation, concerning
The interconnectedness between mental strain and emotional pain leading
Toward each next stage of personal growth (while a lifetime of confusion
Morphs toward clarity) this truth comes to mind:  During each person's life
Times exist when our cups feel half full, half empty, overflowing or
Utterly drained only to find that (once we come to identify, accept and
Embrace life on life's terms) everyone's life is pretty much like
Any other, concerning ups and downs, with this caveat:
As long as a child is not abused to the point of shattering strength of spirit
Life proves to be pretty much whatever we choose to make of it
So if you ask what I plan to do with my life next, I'd reply:
Other than continuing to focus on my chosen path (which includes
Seeking insight while penning my blog rather than helplessly
Wringing my hands when my heart feels pained, my mind strained and
My spirit drained) I have no more clue as to what's up, next, than do you
So I guess tis best to rest my tired mind until intuition guides me to pen
Whatever my sense of readiness releases, next, from
File #1, 2 or 3 of my memory bank, suggesting that
All I can say at this point for certain is this:  When it comes to life
I've learned to go with it—(go with what?)—with with confusion, until
Insight by insight, a peaceful sense of clarity is, for a time, mine, and
With patience intact, the day is sure to dawn when
I'll feel free to write whatever my heart truly feels, moment by moment, suggesting
That while some things need to change, some things do not, soooo ...
If we focus on the positive side of my history, it seems safe to say that
Before too long, whatever trains of intuitive thought show up on
My screen and yours will surely carry my present state of
Wearied disillusionment, concerning life, toward
The next optimistic, more realistic rest stop, which
I'd thought was already mine, suggesting denial to be a powerful drug ...

1397 MY DECISION TO RETIRE THE FIXER PROVES NO EASY TASK

RETIRING THE FIXER PROVES NO EASY TASK
As one of my nieces recently moved to the southeast in close proximity to where Hurricane Matthew hit, I texted, earlier in the week, to make certain that she and her precious family were unscathed.  Relieved at her reply that all was well, she, who'd inspired me to write my blog, asked if I was alright.  When I don't post, her antennae go up.

The day after receiving her text, I sent this response:
I couldn't answer your question about how I am, because my mind was still jammed by confusion, though I'd spent the entire day writing.

As clarity has just begun to emerge for the first time in about two weeks, I've spent the entirity of today writing, again.  In a nut shell, I'll copy a tiny portion of what will, most likely, be the first paragraph, leading into my next series of posts.  So okay, here goes:

My decision to retire The Fixer has caused me to wrestle with an identity crises throughout this past week.  Once that insight flew into my conscious mind as though from out of the blue, this current identity crises came as no great surprise, because this experience is not new to me.  In fact, I felt kind of relieved, because until that first glimmer of insight lit up a dark corner within my confounded mind, all I'd known for certain, over these past several days, was this:
My thought processor, feeling confused, anxious, anguished and paralyzed, had crashed.  Just like a computer with too many windows open, at once.  As this is not the first time overload has catalyzed the complex nature of the computer inside my head to crash, I knew I had my work cut out for me.  What work?  The work of intuition swimming through sludge within the dark side of my brain until today's insight, concerning over load, had served to save my conscious mind from flailing around, hopelessly, feeling captive, all alone, fighting Darth Vader in the dark side with no Jedi Warrior passing the blue light of The Force to me, yet in plain sight.  However, empowered by the insight highlighting overload, my awareness caught sight of the rope, which would lead me to pull my unnamed fear toward file #2, where a treasure chest of insights, stored within my memory, would surely ignite, one after another, inspiring my intuitive powers to shine its spotlight, here and there, until my conscious awareness spies solid ground, upon which the insight, which has thus far escaped detection will serve as the key to unlock the mystery of exactly what had catalyzed a crossed wire inside my head to short out several days back, stalling my sense of progress processing forward ...

I ended the text to my niece with this reassurance:
Today, intuitive thought shone its first spotlight of insight on the as yet unidentified, self demeaning belief that sent my think tank's clarity, concerning reality, careening into this most recent nose dive.  As soon as I've cleared this self defeating belief out of my mind, change for the better, concerning my self image, will, once again, be mine, suggesting that upon withdrawing and re-absorbing the string of insights that is certain to start popping, I'll hold the key to this week's mystery in my open palm, and you can bet that my presence of mind will feel strengthened more than had ever been possible before today's insights had brightened my conscious awareness just as a swarm of fire flies brightens the night's sky.

My niece responded with:
I love seeing that you are granting yourself some grace and forgiveness for being human! I feel like you've been working for a long time to not be the fixer, but maybe you're seeing it in yourself all of a sudden. Maybe you're making more progress. I hope, hope, hope you realize that putting yourself first is not selfish - it benefits everyone (and I'm going to read that sentence to myself often). When I go to an appointment for a massage or to get my nails done, I often think back to a conversation we had several years ago. You had to hang up, because you had a massage appointment but feeling self indulgent, you had a hard time revealing where you were off to. I remember saying "how old are you? You deserve to get a massage every day if you want to!" I remember your response "I think today, I'm 12!" (Suggestive of my feeling need of parental permission to take good care of myself?) Whenever I do something for myself, I think back to that conversation, and I smile.
I also remember, often, of you telling me that emotional growth is even more painful than physical growth.  (Suggesting why human defense mechanisms are preprogrammed to erect walls of denial, fortifying repudiation of constructive criticism no matter how intelligent the political, social, emotional animal, who lives and breathes behind our personas proves to be) I hope this episode of emotional growth you're going through is as painless as possible.
Love you so much!

I answered:
Wow!  Thank you!
I think your mind may luxuriate in my next series of posts, because, over these past two days, the star burst of writing that's been surging forth from within my power of intuition has been gushing like an oil well that's been pushing toward the surface for so long as to emerge as a force of nature as dynamic as is the human spirit, freed of repressed insecurity, proves to be.  Though my brain is still weary from drilling and pumping insight out of pockets of mental darkness, I believe that once my energy recoups, my spirit will reboot, and riding out of its cocoon, as though on a sun beam, shooting straight across a cloudless sky!  That's not to say life will be or feel problem free but rather, my ever-strengthening self image will fear an internal sense of adversity, closing in on all sides like a self imposed (newly exposed) vice squeezing the breath out of my body, much less than when I'd deemed myself Rodin's Thinker, bent over, fist to chin, charging my solution seeker to bear the weight of every crying child's pain inside my head.  (I think of my sons, bringing their friends into my home office, saying you can help this one or that one, Mom,  He [or she] can't talk to his parents.)

And with that said, I pushed send.

PS Phrases enclosed in parenthesis as well as the sentence referencing The Thinker were not in the text.  In truth, my fingers struck those keys, just now.

The next text I sent to my niece proved less positively focused ...
As usual, progress offers up two steps forward, one back ...